Baked Oatmeal

MMMMMMM.......Me like! The oatage-meal slides down the gullet, like a fresh slippy fishy down to the grot of a bird. It fell apart in thy hand and burned thy skin. When too much was jammed into thy mouth, it stained thine platties. The little grains of cinnamon pleaded with me, "please don't eat me!" "I c...c....cc....can't! I must inhale thee little grains of cinnamon.